Sleuth Home - Detective MrWednesdayy

Agent - H&H INVESTIGATIONS

Title:		Sleuth
Experience:		20070
Archetype:		Tough and Charming
Age:		26 days
Gender:		male
Background:		Moonlighting Dilettante
Sleuth Theme:		The Eastern Triads
Last Login:		Dec-13-2025
Account Status:		Active
Subscription Status:		Subscribed
Community:		Post History

Equipment

Completed Missions

• Packages Delivered: 0
• Overdue Books Returned: 0
• Nemeses Captured: 0
• Secret Plans Revealed: 0
• Artifacts Unearthed: 0
• Journal Pages Found: 0
• Brass Rings Won: 0

Detective Biography

They say New York makes you or breaks you.
Funny thing is—I was broken long before I ever set foot in this city.

I grew up in a one-room walk-up wedged between a pawn shop and a meat warehouse; the kind of place where the walls were damp year-round and the floorboards stayed sticky no matter what you scraped off them. My mother wasn’t a saint, but she wasn’t the worst thing in that building either. She worked nights, slept days, and used whiskey like prayer—often and without answers.

I learned early that family is just a word people use to soften a blow.

The men she brought home were never the same twice. Some loud, some quiet, some mean, some worse. I knew which ones would leave bruises on her and which ones would leave them on me. Eventually I stopped checking. Eventually the bruises stopped mattering.

One winter night, one of her regulars decided I owed him something.
My mother didn’t argue.
She never argued.
She just looked at me with that blank, exhausted stare—like she’d finally accepted what the world had always told her: nothing good survives here.

But something in me did.

I fought him. Fought him like a cornered animal. Something snapped—maybe his nose, maybe my fear. I don’t remember which broke first. I only remember the aftermath: the blood on my shirt, the silence in the room, and my mother whispering, “You should go. Before someone comes looking.”

And so I went.

I hit the streets with nothing but a cracked lip and a knack for surviving things that should’ve killed me. I picked up skills the way other kids picked up toys—quick hands, a quicker tongue, and a talent for slipping in and out of lives without leaving fingerprints. Folks called me a lot of things: hustler, stray, devil’s lucky coin. But the name that stuck was Wednesday.

Middle of the damn week.
Middle of every mess.
Middle of nowhere and everywhere at once.

I started taking odd jobs—finding people, exposing secrets, cleaning up trouble the police pretended not to see. Turns out when you grow up in darkness, you get real good at navigating it. New York became my hunting ground, my classroom, my bad habit.

But the city ain’t enough. Not anymore.

I look at maps the way other men look at women—hungry, curious, half-ashamed. London’s fog, Shanghai’s neon, Cairo’s sand-bitten alleyways, Delhi’s crowded heat… even the myth of Shangri-La whispers like a dare. I want to see it all, not because I’m some wide-eyed dreamer, but because running only works if you keep moving.

And me?
I’ve been running since I could walk.

I solve cases now. Track trouble. Chase ghosts.
Some folks call me a detective.
Others call me unlucky.

But everyone agrees on one thing:

Mr. Wednesday always shows up—
right in the middle of the storm,
right where things get ugly,
right when you wish he hadn’t.

It’s the only place I’ve ever belonged.

And the only place I ever learned how to breath

Politics

Contacts

Waitress (New York)
Shoe Maker (New York)
Curator (London)
Tailor (London)

Arch Villains

None Caught

Books Collected

The Mysterious Affair at Styles
Agatha Christie

The Moonstone
Wilkie Collins

Sidekicks

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